5 Times Kurt Was in Blaine's Room
by smellslikechai
Summary: The evolution of Kurt and Blaine's relationship portrayed through Blaine's bedroom.


I.

Kurt's fist hovers over the rich, polished wood of Blaine Anderson's front door. He's plucking up the courage to knock, and he knows how pathetic it is, he really does, but he can't help but be intimidated. He's never been inside this house, unless you count the few times he stood in the foyer, anxiously waiting for Blaine to _please hurry and get down here_ for their unfortunately completely platonic trips to the local theatre. He met his parents once, a sufficiently awkward yet mostly pleasant experience. Mr. Anderson had acknowledged his presence with a brusque nod as he passed, and his wife offered him a glass of juice and an invitation to sit while he waited.

This time's different though. Blaine's not here. He's caught in traffic somewhere, sending him apologetic texts and assuring him it's fine to wait for him in his house. Their maid, Belinda, is there, he says, so she'll let him in and whip him up a snack if he's hungry. There's also a TV in his room, if he wants to put on a movie while he waits.

Kurt finally brings his knuckles to the door, ignoring the embellished doorbell. He waits for a moment, then hears the telltale click of a metal deadbolt sliding back, and the door opens. A squat, middle aged lady stands in front of him, almost a foot shorter. She looks him up and down, and Kurt suddenly feels quite self-conscious, but she nods and allows him entry, grabbing his coat and hurrying off to wherever she came from without a word.

And now he is, for all intents and purposes, alone in this massive house. He admires the warm browns and reds that make up the colour scheme, and add a sense of lived-in-ness to what he knows to be a frequently deserted home. The carpet under his feet is plush, and springs back up after each step. He notices that it hasn't been trodden down in what should be frequently travelled areas, meaning it's new, or doesn't see much traffic. Judging by the lack of new carpet smell, Kurt assumes the latter.

He makes his way past the sitting room, a gallery of expensive furniture to be admired and coveted, but not sat on, never subjected to something as damaging as family life. He catches a glimpse of the kitchen as he walks to the staircase. Top of the line appliances in stainless steel are sandwiched between marble countertops. It's beautiful, and he finds himself aching for a chance to explore it, to root through the drawers where he knows he'll find every utensil, pot, and skillet he's ever had on his wish list, all in perfect condition, and probably all unused. He clutches at the banister and tears him mind away and trods up the steps, following Blaine's directions. _Second floor, second door on the right. _This hallway is similarly furnished as the main floor, warm and inviting, but still somehow sterile. Maybe it's the scent of Pledge that wafts off every surface, masking the house's unique scent.

It's not hard to find Blaine's room; the sign reading _BLAINE'S ROOM _hanging from the closed door makes it hard to miss. Kurt takes a deep breath in, as though he's about to walk into an active war zone, and turns the handle, slowly pushing forward.

It's not what Kurt expected, but it's exactly what he _should_ have expected. The room is dark, he notices first. The walls are lined with hunter green and cream striped wallpaper, with monochromatic wood panelling along the bottom. The overhead light is harsh, and casts the room in a synthetic glow, so he promptly flicks it off again. There's just enough light coming in through the sole window, but the sun is rapidly setting. He reaches for a lamp instead, which does a much better job of illuminating the area. A glimmer directly to his left catches his eye, and he sees a fairly impressive collection of trophies gathered on top of a tall dresser. He moves closer, curious.

Not surprisingly, he recognizes a handful instantly as singing awards, all dated between the years 2000 and 2007. Two of them are for polo, which _is_ surprising. He doesn't ever remember hearing Blaine mention it, or even horses for that matter, but the many pictures around the room indicate that it must be important to him. He'll have to ask him about that. There's a small plaque leaning against the wall, this one for fencing. Also a small shock: he knew Blaine fenced from time to time, but he never mentioned competitions. The last trophy, the second largest, makes Kurt smile. _Ohio State Spelling Bee, 2008- 2nd Place_.

Kurt pads across the hardwood floor to the vanity. There's an assortment of knickknacks cluttered there, and a bottle of hair gel he refrains from stowing away in his bag. He doesn't want to snoop, so he moves on, admiring a bright red armchair that feels somewhat out of place in an otherwise quite sombre room, but it's really the most _Blaine_ piece he's seen so far. It looks quite comfortable, but there's a pile of neatly folded clothes on the seat, so he can't test his theory.

Then there's the eyesore of the room, a large plasma TV mounted on the wall. It's nice, certainly, and Kurt's quite envious if truth be told, but on top of the many reasons he's against having such a distraction in what should be a sanctuary, it jars with the cohesive aesthetic. The room is quiet, old fashioned, and dark, but the TV is new and flashy. He starts forming his argument to convince Blaine to take it out.

Kurt turns away, and winds up face to face with Blaine's bed. He's been trying his best to ignore it ever since he walked in. It's just so personal, he thinks, and also painful. It's where he wants to be most right now, curled up under the covers with Blaine beside him, fingers entwined and foreheads resting together. The thought causes his throat to constrict, but he's brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He panics, not sure how he should be situated when Blaine walks in. He doesn't want to just be standing there awkwardly, like he's uncomfortable being here (which, yeah, he kind of is- but Blaine doesn't need to know), but he thinks it might be a bit forward to just sprawl out on the bed.

He ends up crouching in front of the small assortment of DVDs, grabbing one at random and pretending to read the back as he does his best to calm his heartbeat back to an acceptable pace.

"Hey," Blaine says, smiling at Kurt as he tosses his bag across the room. "I'm so sorry for making you wait. It must have been kinda weird being here alone."

"It was fine," Kurt lies breathlessly, smiling back and watching the other boy sink onto the bed. "I wasn't here long. Just thought we could watch a movie or something before we start on this history project." He holds up whichever case he has in his hand with a nonchalant shrug, trying to show Blaine just how _totally not weird_ it is for him to be in this room.

But Blaine's blushing now, a rare occurrence, and Kurt starts to worry he's acting a little too comfortable. Are they not at that point where they can root through each other's DVDs? Because Blaine said it was fine.

"Uh…" Blaine starts, an eyebrow quirked, "were you planning on watching that exact one?"

Kurt looks down at what's in his hands for the first time. As it turns out, he's holding up a copy of _Anal Adventures 5, _and in a move he's not proud of, shrieks and throws it across the room. There's a moment of silence as they watch the disc fly out of the case as it smacks the wall and roll in wide circles along the floor until it collapses with a shudder.

Blaine reacts first with a hearty laugh. Just a single bark at first, but it the look on Kurt's face and the tense silent acts as a catalyst, and he breaks into hysterics. He's actually doubled over, hands clutching his stomach, and Kurt's pretty sure those are tears in his eyes. For his part, Kurt's frozen with embarrassment, only slightly relieved Blaine can see some sort of humour in the situation (because he sure can't).

"I… It's…" Kurt sputters, trying to form a coherent sentence over his crippling shame and Blaine's guffawing. "…_you keep that in with your normal movies?_"

Blaine takes a moment to compose himself, almost as red in the face as Kurt. "No one's ever in here," he explains, rubbing his hands over his cheeks. "But I forgot that was there; it was a present from Jeff. God I wish I had a recording of your reaction." He rises from the bed and picks up the projectiles, still chuckling. He flips the disc over, examining the back and wiping something off it.

"Did I scratch it?" Kurt asks, just to be polite. It shouldn't matter if it's scratched, should it? Has Blaine watched it?

"It'll be fine," Blaine shrugs, snapping the case shut and tossing it into a drawer. "It's always been kinda wonky anyway. I'm pretty sure it's a bootleg."

Kurt feels his brain shut down at those words. Blaine's watched it. He's watched it multiple times. Probably while on that bed, with his hands-

"We should start." Kurt says abruptly. "Our homework, I mean."

Blaine nods and scoops up his bag, digging through and pulling out his notebook, muttering quietly about the Russian Revolution. Kurt hasn't even opened his English textbook. It's that damn bed, he grumbles to himself. Taunting him; a symbol of everything Kurt wants but he can't have, because Blaine's just not interested. And Blaine's rambling on and on about the Tsar, completely unaware that Kurt's stewing in his emotional juices, on the verge of a breakdown. He needs to get out of this room.

"It's so dark in here," Kurt interrupts, trying to keep his voice light. "And your overhead light is terrible. How do you do anything in here without straining your eyes?"

"I guess I'm just used to it," he says, looking at Kurt over his notes. "Is it bothering you? We could do this somewhere else."

"If you don't mind," he replies, eternally grateful. Kurt all but runs around the room, collecting his stuff, and they make their way down to basement, where he can finally focus on his work without that nagging distraction.

II.

"Do you think anyone's actually died from shame?" At least, that's what Kurt thinks Blaine's saying.

Blaine's curled up on his bed, his face pressed into the pillows. "I'll never be able to go into a GAP again."

Kurt takes a seat next to Blaine, idly placing a hand on his shoulder. His feelings for Blaine have changed a lot in a short timespan, but even though he's totally-mostly-sorta over Blaine, he gets a sort of sick pleasure from watching him get turned down. Maybe it makes him a bad person-no, it definitely does,-but he can't stop feeling that way.

It's funny, he thinks to himself. Only a week ago, he would give anything to be in this situation; sitting on Blaine's bed, comforting him. Hell, he was so smitten he could barely look at it. But he sees now how naive he was. He had built Blaine up so much in his mind, bought into his confident exterior, and fell hard. Blaine's not perfect. He doesn't have all the answers, and he doesn't always say the right things, today being a prime example. Blaine's just a boy, Kurt sees it now. Just a boy who watches bad porn and sings inappropriate songs in public settings to guys he's not dating. He's always going to want Blaine; he's smart and so nice and talented and beautiful, but at least now he doesn't feel like he _needs_ him anymore.

"Well then," Kurt says brightly, "something good came out of this after all."

Blaine turns his head and weakly smiles at Kurt. He'll get over this whole fiasco soon enough, Kurt knows. He just needs to be distracted. Kurt wants to rib Blaine about the TV still hanging on the wall (obviously Blaine had ignored Kurt's speech on the detrimental effects of having it in his room), but he doesn't want to ruffle Blaine's feathers in this state. He goes for a neutral topic.

"You never mentioned you played polo."

There's a flicker of something behind Blaine's eyes, but it's gone before Kurt can place it.

"It's a long story."

Kurt presses. Watching Blaine suffer, while perversely satisfying, is also starting to get depressing. "I have time."

Blaine bites his lip, looking deep in thought, and Kurt suddenly realizes he's not in for the light-hearted tale he expected. He regrets asking now, but Blaine's sitting up, resting against the headboard and picking at lint on his uniform slacks.

"My parents belonged to a country club just outside of Columbus," Blaine starts nervously, "for people with more money than they know what to do with. It's almost obscene.

"Anyways, they have stables there, and whenever I was forced to tag along with them, that was my favourite place to go. So they signed me up for horseback riding lessons. I guess I would have been 8, at the time. The instructor said I was a natural, and wanted me to consider joining the polo league. I wasn't really into the idea. I loved riding horses, but I didn't really like the other kids at the club. In the end, I only agreed to it because my parents offered to buy me my own horse."

Kurt nods as Blaine tucks his legs into his chest. He often forgets that Blaine is shorter than him because his personality seems to add inches to his stature, but right now, it's never been so apparent.

"I played until I was 14." He continues. "I didn't make one friend that entire time, but I enjoyed the game enough that it didn't really bother me. They were obnoxious and rude, and when they found out I was gay…" he stalls for a moment. "They weren't impressed. A few of them got together one night and… well, the next day, my dad was on the phone with Dalton, getting my transfer in order."

Kurt wonders what happened, but he doesn't press for more information. Instead, he crawls up next to Blaine, letting the boy lean his weight against him. He doesn't know what to say, but he hopes this will be enough. For a moment, Blaine just breathes, deep inhales that raise his shoulders and expand his chest, and long exhales that tickle Kurt's neck. He's told his closest friends at Dalton this story, but it's different with Kurt. This is the first time someone's really understood what he was going through. David and Wes were always comforting, always empathizing, but Kurt _gets_ it. Blaine doesn't always want someone to clap his shoulder and tell him it'll get better, or that he's amongst friends. Sometimes he just wants a warm body next to his that will let him flounder in his misery for a minute. Unconsciously, he grab's Kurt's hand in his own and clutches tight. Kurt squeezes back.

"I never went back," Blaine finally says. "My parents sold my horse and cancelled their membership right away. That's when my dad bought the old car. He said real men work with their hands. He started taking me to football games as well, which I enjoyed a lot more than I expected to…"

It sounds like he has more to say, but after a minute or so of silence Kurt realizes Blaine's done his story.

Kurt could kick himself right now. He just wanted to distract Blaine from this afternoon's GAP-Attack (which, he supposes, he did), not submerge him under waves of bad memories. He's afraid to ask anymore questions, incase he unwittingly opens another Pandora's Box buried deep within Blaine. So he sits still, running his thumb over Blaine's knuckles and being _there. _Like he always will be.

Finally, Blaine begins to stir. He lifts his face from Kurt's shoulder and reclaims his hand. He doesn't say anything, but his half smile and slightly quirked eyebrow speaks for him. _Thank you_. Kurt shuffles off the bed and grabs his coat, then throws Blaine's to him. The time for moping is over, he's decided.

"Let's go get coffee."

III.

Kurt's curled up under the covers, head resting on Blaine's clavicle, hand placed on his chest. He doesn't remember ever being so comfortable or content, teetering on the edge of awake and asleep, and Blaine- _his Blaine _breathing in deep, slow breaths. He's got his hand on Kurt's waist, fingers running lightly back and forth over the material of his shirt.

Kurt still can't believe it's been a week since Blaine kissed him in the common room, stirring up the feelings for the boy that Kurt thought had finally died away. But they were still very much there, just hibernating, waiting for Prince Charming's kiss to bring them back to life. It's been seven days of hand holding and admiring looks and "I'm so glad I found you." He knows he's not in love yet, never actually was (just suffering from misplaced infatuation), but laying here, knowing that someday he will love Blaine, and Blaine will love him back, makes his stomach flip and he presses a chaste kiss to Blaine's neck. He feels Blaine smile under his lips, and the boy slowly pulls his arm from under Kurt's body and rolls over so they're face to face.

Blaine leans in slowly, giving Kurt time to back away, though he knows he won't. Their lips catch, brushing with feather light strokes. It's soft and sweet, and they pull back frequently just so they can smile at the other before moving back in. It's also their second real kiss, Kurt thinks. After the initial kiss, Blaine had explained he really hadn't planned it, he just got swept away, but he wants to go slow. Kurt had agreed, so they limited themselves to quick pecks every now and then, though the memory of their passionate exchange still lingered almost tangibly between them.

But now there's no restraint. Blaine moves his hand to rest on Kurt's neck, his thumb swiping gently along his jaw. He angles his head and kisses deeper, his tongue meeting Kurt's. Kurt presses in closer, his legs tangling into Blaine's and-

The sound of the front door closing forces them apart, red in the face and smiling like lunatics. When the footsteps move up the stairs and towards the room, Kurt throws himself onto the armchair. Blaine's parents still don't know about them, and there are more tactful ways of breaking the news than having them walk in on a make out session.

"Blaine, dear," Mrs. Anderson's voice calls out from behind the closed door.

"Yes, mom?" Blaine's quickly fixing the sheets on his bed, but the door doesn't open.

"We're having a family supper tonight. Please be ready by 7:30."

"Alright."

The footsteps disappear back down the stairwell. Kurt checks the clock. It's seven now.

"I should go," he says, trying not to sound too upset. "You have to get ready."

But Blaine grabs Kurt's hands before he can get up. "No, stay." He pleads. "Tonight's the perfect time. We'll go down right now and tell them about us, and Belinda can set you a place at the table."

Kurt's apprehensive, but Blaine's determined, so he follows him out of the room and down to the den. Mrs. Anderson is writing something, her eyes darting between her journal and the news program on TV, and Mr. Anderson is absorbed in a newspaper, a glass of something brown in his hand.

"Mom, Dad." Blaine announces, his voice confident but his hands shaking. "This is Kurt."

"Don't be silly Blaine," Mrs. Anderson says with a chuckle. "We know who Kurt-"

"My boyfriend."

There's a moment of stillness while the words settle. Mr. Anderson reacts first, setting his newspaper down and leaving the room, his face unreadable. Blaine clutches at Kurt's hand and Kurt squeezes back reassuringly.

"Your boyfriend?" Mrs. Anderson repeats, as though she's never heard the word before.

"Yes. And can he- I'd really like- I want him to stay for supper tonight."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, sweetheart." She replies too fast. "Belinda's already started cooking, I'm afraid we won't have enough for him."

"We always have plenty of leftovers that we just throw away." He says exasperated. "Please mom. It would mean so much to me. To both of us."

"Not tonight, Blaine," she snaps. Blaine looks shattered and Kurt just wants to hold him in his arms.

"It's ok," he whispers, his thumb stroking over Blaine's knuckles. "Just give them time."

"No." Blaine says a bit harshly, though Kurt knows it's aimed at his mother. "You've had plenty of time. I'll eat with you again when Kurt's sitting next to me at the table."

He storms away, dragging Kurt along with him. He leads him out the front door and stands expectantly outside Kurt's Navigator. When they're both seated, Blaine loses it. He cups his face in his hands and weeps, his shoulders shaking and breath stuttering.

Kurt knows there's no point trying to comfort him right now. He throws the SUV into drive and lets Blaine cry until there's no more tears left, and he's hiccoughing with each inhale.

IV.

Kurt wakes up disoriented, a blue light shining brightly in the room. That damn TV. But wait, that's Blaine's TV, which means this is Blaine's room. The events from last night flood back to him: having supper here, not just him, but his whole family. His dad and Mr. Anderson talking football, with hearty laughter and animated gestures. Carole and Mrs. Anderson discussing something or other they saw on the Home Shopping Network, their volume rising as the wine in their glasses diminished. Blaine resting his hand on Kurt's knee as they ate, his face in a permanent state of awe as he watched his parents bond with his boyfriends'. Then there was Finn, not totally sure what was going on, but enjoying the expertly cooked meal.

It might have taken two months, but Kurt always knew Blaine's parents would come around. It was obvious they weren't totally comfortable with the situation yet, but they were trying. Hell, they let Kurt sleep over tonight, which is more than his dad's ever done (Blaine's parents didn't need to know that). Kurt and Blaine had to swear they'd be good before Burt signed off on the idea, and they had been. They cuddled up on Blaine's bed, put on Pillow Talk, and fell asleep before the movie was over.

Kurt smiled to himself and pulled Blaine in closer, dotting the back of his neck with kisses. It didn't take long for the boy to start stirring.

"Mmm… morning." He rolled over and greeted Kurt with a kiss. "I could get used to waking up next to you."

Kurt beams and moves in again, catching Blaine off guard. He rolls Blaine onto his back and straddles his waist, keeping their lips apart for the smallest amount of time before he's kissing him again.

"What's this for?" Blaine asks when Kurt starts sucking on his neck.

"I need a reason?" He replies, his hands blindly reaching for the hem of Blaine's shirt. Once he finds it, he gets it over his head and tosses it to the floor. They've only done this a few times, and he can feel Blaine tense under his hands. Kurt slows the pace, working his mouth back to Blaine's. He kisses him lightly, waiting for Blaine to intensify it, then pulls back as soon as he does. He loves the way it drives Blaine crazy, and it's working especially well tonight.

Blaine tears at Kurt's shirt, and with a bit of a struggle, manages to get it off him. He runs his hands up Kurt's chest, taking him in through dark eyes. Kurt kisses him in earnest. It's messy and their noses are getting caught and their teeth clack, but Kurt's too turned on to care, and by the feel of it, so is Blaine.

Normally, this is the part where they'd separate with red faces and guilty smiles, mumbling something about getting carried away. Kurt can't count the number of times Blaine's left his house with his jacket bundled up in his lap, checking around each corner for Burt before dashing out the door. Kurt wouldn't fare much better, retreating to the shower after every date- surely the family was getting suspicious.

So why couldn't they just help each other out, so to speak? He's ready to take the next step, surely Blaine is too. Kurt slides his hand down Blaine's torso, watching in awe as he slips it under his jeans. Blaine gasps, closes his eyes, and arches up into Kurt's hand. It's the most amazing feeling ever. Blaine's eyes are closed, and when Kurt moves his fingers just right, his lips part just slightly and a low, short groan escapes. It's the most amazing sound Kurt's ever heard, and knowing it's just for him causes a tightening sensation in his stomach.

Kurt's just getting confident, finding a good rhythm and pressure, when Blaine's hand darts up, grabbing his wrist.

"Wait, Kurt," he says urgently. He darts into a sitting position, nearly knocking Kurt off the bed. "This isn't right."

"What?" Kurt squeaks, withdrawing his hand as though electrocuted.

"I just… we wanted to take things slow, right?"

Kurt crawls off Blaine, curling up into himself, ashamed. "But we're both ready for it. I thought that… don't you want me?"

Blaine looks genuinely hurt by the question. He shifts his position so he's sitting behind Kurt, his legs spread so his boyfriend can lean up against his chest. "Of course I do. But we discussed waiting until the time is right, and forming a deep, intellectual connection before we brought sex into the equation. Unless you've changed your mind."

"I haven't," Kurt concedes, wondering how on earth he ended up with the one logical and diplomatic teenage boy on earth. "I guess I just got caught up. I'm sorry."

Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt, and it's a bit awkward because they're both still rock hard, but it passes eventually and they settle under the sheets and go back to sleep.

V.

The sunlight's just beginning to peak into Blaine's window. Kurt hasn't slept all night, and he doubts he'll be getting some anytime soon, not now that discovered the joys of sex, the rapture of giving yourself-every last part-over to the one you love, and receiving them in return, the primal yet sophisticated act of sharing their deepest emotions. It was everything Kurt wanted, needed, craved, but a thousand times more.

It was perfect.

Blaine, however, has a different reaction to sex. While Kurt just wants to cuddle afterwards, he learned that Blaine is prone to falling asleep. After the first time, Kurt was wrapped up tightly in Blaine's arms, naked and with a smile permanently attached to his face, murmuring sweet nothings when a sudden snore interrupted him. He had sternly prodded Blaine awake, but laughed at his disorientation.

"I don't even remember falling asleep," he had said with a guilty smile. "I promise it won't happen next time."

Kurt hummed at the words. "Next time?" He trailed a finger down Blaine's chest, stopping just shy of his pelvis and worked his way back up. "When's that going to be?"

So there they are, Blaine sleeping once more with his limbs stuck at awkward angles and a small puddle of drool at the corner of his mouth. It's decidedly unsexy, yet Kurt can't help but stare with fondness swelling in his chest. He presses a quick kiss to Blaine's cheek and crawls off the bed. He's pulling on Blaine's shirt (sure, his is literally two inches away, but that's besides the point) when from the corner of his eye he notices something… different. He whips around and stares at the wall for a moment, cocking his head to the side.

The TV is gone. After almost a year of gentle prodding (or constant nagging), Blaine has finally given in. With a satisfied smirk, he tiptoes out of the room.

The house is completely empty, has been for a few days. Blaine's parents are away somewhere, he never bothered to ask, and Belinda has the week off. He walks quietly down the staircase, skipping the one step he knows to creak loudly and turning in to the kitchen. Kurt's snooped around enough in here to know where the frying pans hid, and can grab some ingredients from the perfectly stocked fridge without much searching. As he whips together the crepe batter, he allows himself to pretend that he's standing in his and Blaine's kitchen ten years from now. It'll be just like how it is now, he imagines, sneaking out of bed to whip up breakfast before Blaine wakes. Or maybe it won't be just him cooking for Blaine. He pictures a small girl, maybe five years old, with dark, curly hair standing on a chair next to him, helping him pour the milk into the mixing bowl. When the crepes are cooked to golden-brown perfection, Kurt will load up a tray and lead Eliza (tentatively named) up to the master bedroom, where she'll jump onto Blaine's sleeping form.

Kurt chuckles to himself. First time having sex and he's already planning their life together He's young and inexperienced; he should be terrified by the thought of _forever_, not daydreaming about it.

As he expertly flips the crepe in the pan, he hears Blaine moving around upstairs. He had been counting on Blaine to sleep long enough to surprise him with breakfast in bed, but he doesn't mind having some company.

"How'd I know you be here?" Blaine asks as he walks up to Kurt, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He's only wearing his boxers, and though Kurt appreciates it, he shoos him away from the stove. He doesn't need a trip to the burn ward today. Blaine sits at the island, staring at his boyfriend. It's cute, but also a little unnerving. Kurt tells Blaine this.

"Sorry that I can't take my eyes off my beautiful, sexy, amazing cook, sex-god-"

"Alright." Kurt rolls his eyes, but he can't keep his grin concealed. "What do you want on your crepe?"

Blaine, insisting he has the culinary skills to wrap some fruit in a pastry, grabs the plate. "I must have done something right to deserve a home cooked breakfast." He pauses, then adds with a smirk, "am I just that good at giving head?"

_Yes_, Kurt thinks. _You are_. But he's not going to stroke Blaine's ego yet. "Consider it your treat for finally taking that TV out of your room."

Blaine sets down his fork with exaggerated indignation. "What? I thought sex was my treat! That's why I took it down in the first place."

"You took it down just so I would have sex with you?" Kurt clarified, each syllable laden with judgment.

"I thought it wouldn't hurt my chances," Blaine shrugs. "I mean, I thought you might hold out on me until I did."

Kurt steals the plate away from Blaine. "I changed my mind. I rescind your crepe."

Blaine whines for a minute, then changes tactics. He slides up next to Kurt, pressing in tightly against his side. Kurt side-eyes him warily, but doesn't move. Truth be told, he still gets a thrill from having Blaine so close.

"You know," Blaine whispers ragged into Kurt's ear, "I think I'm craving something else."

Kurt shivers as Blaine's hand moves slowly down to the front of his pants. He instantly forgets about pretending to be mad and arches into Blaine's touch. Why did they wait so long to do this?

"Oh shit," Kurt hisses as Blaine sinks to his knees. Blaine kisses right above the waistband of Kurt's pyjamas, hooking a finger under the elastic and tugging just slightly. Kurt's eyes shut automatically and his head falls back in anticipation.

But suddenly Blaine's warmth isn't there anymore. He snaps his head back up to see Blaine taking off with the crepe, running out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

"I love you!" Blaine shouts from above.

Kurt just groans and flicks off the stove. He doesn't like to do it, but for now he'll leave the dirty dishes where they are.

He bolts up to Blaine's room, where the other is already simultaneously shoving the crepe into his face and pulling down his underwear.

"Someone's eager."

Blaine audibly swallows the last mouthful of breakfast and pulls Kurt towards him. Kurt closes the small distance, pressing his lips lightly against Blaine's. They stay like that for a while, not so much kissing as standing with their mouths together. Between school, the musical, the presidential elections, glee club, and everything else in life, they haven't been able to enjoy the few moments of stillness they find. But now it's just Kurt and Blaine, alone in serenity.


End file.
